


Different by the Light of Day

by TheEagleGirl



Series: Visenya [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, Dragons, Dragonstone, F/F, F/M, Female Jon Snow, First Time, Missing Scene, Polyamory, Rhaegar ruins his kids' lives, Sibling Incest, Threesome, working on relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-08-30 19:39:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8546545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEagleGirl/pseuds/TheEagleGirl
Summary: A marriage between three people isn't easy, and sometimes so uncomfortable that it's painful, to all involved.Or, Jon Snow is born Visenya Targaryen, and is confused more than just sometimes.





	1. Aegon

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set between Heads of the Dragon and Terrors of the Night. I wanted to show how Visenya, Aegon and Rhaenys's relationship is a work in progress, how sometimes it was hard to understand each other and to let each other know what they want. 
> 
> I would recommend reading the rest of this series before reading this one. 
> 
> (Non-explicit smut. I know, I know. You all wanted to see a hot threesome. But writing smut is HARD, and it felt more natural to leave it this way. I promise really hot stuff in a later installment.)
> 
> Also: Wow. It's my 20th work on this site. I'm blown away.

Abed, Aegon’s sisters are as different as night and day.

Visenya likes to be kissed slowly, softly, to explore and be explored. She likes to be touched gently, and arches like a cat against Aegon’s hands, shudders against his rough words. The first few times, Visenya had been deeply embarrassed by her reactions, but Aegon finds that a soothing touch, a murmured word against her hair calms her. There are other nights when she is overwhelmed by it all, and pulls away, but always comes back to his arms.

Rhaenys is not nearly so docile. She gives as good as she gets, scratches, bites, kisses hard and fast. Often, it is Rhaenys who takes the lead with Aegon, pins him down and sucks bruises into his throat before he can even process the change in position. When it is the two of them, Aegon loses himself in the physicality of it all, forgets everything but her name.

It is because they are so different that Aegon has not pictured the three of them, together in this way that Rhaenys has suggested. But he cannot deny that once the thought is in his head, it nearly drives him mad with lust.

He nearly loses his head thinking about it when he practices at swords with Visenya that morning. As different as they are in the night, they are even more so by day. Rhaenys can seem demure if she wants, gentle and almost womanly, sewing with the septa, arguing gently about poetry from the age of the Andals with Tyrion Lannister. There is no hint of his wild sister in the light of day, not until her violet eyes meet his and make him flush and duck behind her into one of the unused rooms at Dragonstone.

And Visenya… there is nothing of the careful, touch-starved girl with walls of ice that he has come to know. In the day, Visenya is a warrior, fierce and strong and cold. The only times he sees her thaw in the light is when she is riding her horse, watching Ghost, fighting or plucking away at the harp. Some days it seems like she is too far for Aegon to reach, across a chasm he cannot cross, until at last he finds her again in her bed and they are close, closer than flesh alone can bring them.

“What is wrong with you?” Visenya pants now, backing away from him, her sword still raised. Aegon plants his feet and tries to banish his thoughts. “If you can’t continue, say so.”

“I can,” Aegon insists, and swipes at a bead of sweat on his forehead. Visenya raises a brow, and the next thing Aegon knows, he’s blinking up at the sky and his head is burning.

“Told you to keep your shield up,” Visenya says, her breathing still ragged. “Else I’ll ring your head like a bell.”

With that, she turns away from him and calls back, “Race you to the keep!”

Before she can go more than a few steps away, Aegon hooks his foot around her ankle and _pulls_. Swearing, Visenya goes down and lands on his chest in a heap of limbs and practice armor. The sudden pain takes Aegon’s breath away, but when he gets it back he finds he is laughing.

“—such a _child_ ,” Visenya is muttering, but Aegon notices that she hasn’t moved away yet. Her arms are tense against his chest, though so she’ll be pulling away soon unless he gets it out. The words burn in his throat, but he forces himself to say it.

“Rhaenys spoke to me,” he starts. Visenya doesn’t move; she hums instead, and Aegon feels the vibrations through the plate of his practice armor. Tentatively, so as to not scare Visenya away, Aegon lifts his hand and cards his fingers through her hair softly. Visenya makes an appreciative noise. She won’t be moving away yet. “She…wanted me to talk to you about it.”

“About what?” Visenya says, almost drowsily. With the last of the summer sun reaching them through the tall grass, she looks content against his chest. Aegon wishes he could make her look this way all the time, wishes that they could be this close always.

“Us. The three of us.” Aegon clears his throat. His mouth is dry. “Together.”

There is a moment of tense silence, and suddenly, Visenya has wrenched herself off him. The weight of her hands pushing her off against his chest hurts, and Aegon sucks in a breath.

“What?” Visenya demands, and with the sun at her back, Aegon can’t see the expression on her face. He imagines it’s angry, that she’s figured out the horrible fantasy that’s been playing in his mind for months, the fantasy he’s only just acknowledged with Rhaenys’s prodding.

“Don’t be mad,” Aegon whispers, and reaches out for her. Visenya resists, staying stubbornly out of reach. “I’m just telling you what she wants.”

Visenya laughs bitterly. “I know what _she_ wants, Aegon. And I know that you never do anything you don’t want to, either.”

“Would it be so different?” Aegon asks, his voice raw with hurt. “You’ve been with me. I _know_ you and Rhaenys have done some things as well. Would it be so awful to try?”

Visenya is quiet, and finally, she lowers down enough that Aegon can see her face. She’s still too far for him, and his hands ache to close their gap, but he knows that Visenya hates nothing so much as an unwelcome touch. “Do you know what people will say?” she asks, her voice hard. Her eyes are closed off, her expression pinched. “They already talk about the wolf-bitch who has to fuck her brother. Imagine what they would say to this.”

Aegon straightens, and suddenly he is angry as well. As awful as it is, he takes comfort in the familiarity of this anger. He and Visenya have been at odds all their lives, it seems, and it’s easier to be angry with her than it is to be in love with her. “What do _people_ have to do with our lives?” Aegon demands. “This marriage is between _us_ , Visenya, between you, me and Rhaenys. _People_ have nothing to do with it.”

Visenya’s laugh is disbelieving, and she matches his fire with some of her own. “We are the heirs to the Iron Throne,” she hisses. “Of course _people_ have something to do with it. They are _our_ people.”

“Visenya—” Aegon starts, but she wrenches herself away from him, and marches to her horse. When he follows, he can see that the tears have started in her eyes, but she isn’t letting them fall. For some reason, Aegon feels like crying too.

Slowly, he comes around the horse, and raises his hand to trace a finger down her cheek. Visenya turns her head away, but doesn’t move from him. Aegon takes that as an allowance, and lowers his head so he can kiss her.

The kiss is barely a whisper against her lips, but Aegon can feel Visenya shudder, and suddenly her hands are grabbing for purchase on his shoulders, digging into the plate of his armor. It’s not a comfortable position for either of them, with all the metal in the way, the chill in the air starting to reach them now that their sweat has dried. But Aegon focuses on Visenya instead, this mad, wild wife of his that he will spend the rest of his life apologizing to, even if she tells him he doesn’t have to anymore. With each pass of his tongue on her lips, with each ragged breath, Aegon feels his anger chip away until nothing is left but a boy and a girl, kissing in a field.

When he pulls away, Visenya’s eyes are still closed, her lips swollen and her hair blowing in the wind coming off the sea. “Will you think about it?” Aegon asks, voice unsteady. “I won’t ask you again if you don’t want it, but I think you should consider—” He breaks off. “We both love you, Visenya. And I think you feel the same, sometimes.”

Visenya pulls away, and swings onto her horse without a word. In the distance, Aegon can hear Thorn screech, but his eyes remain on her.

“More than just sometimes,” Visenya murmurs, so quiet that Aegon thinks he’s imagined it until her eyes meet his, the truth of her words in them. Then she is gone, and Aegon is left shivering in the wind alone.

 

* * *

 

 

“She said that _exactly_?” Rhaenys asks, seeming nearly disinterested, looking at her painting instead of at Aegon. But he can tell that she’s nervous from the way the brush in her hand has stilled, the way that she closed her eyes for a moment before speaking. “That she feels the same sometimes?”

“That she feels the same about us _more_ than just sometimes,” Aegon clarifies, and comes around to look at what Rhaenys is working on. She has some skill, and she’s managed to catch the view of the ocean outside her window well, but the colors are too bright, almost falsely so. The waters of Dragonstone are more grey than blue.

“I see,” Rhaenys says, and does not tell Aegon what it is that she sees, exactly.

“You should have spoken to her about it,” Aegon mutters crossly. “Or we should have both spoken to her together.”

“She would have felt like we were siding against her if we did,” Rhaenys reminds him. “Sit down, Aegon.”

He does. With Rhaenys, it’s easy to just listen to her. It was a leftover of their days as children in the Red Keep, when Aegon followed his big sister around, waited for her to tell them what games they would play next, what they would do next.

Rhaenys continues, “I wanted _you_ to speak to her about this because it’s high time that you two talked something out without me in the middle.” She swirls some more blue onto her pallet. “You’re getting better, the two of you. I wanted her to feel comfortable with you being the one that brought it up.” Rhaenys sighs, “Does that make sense?” she asks, and Aegon nods reluctantly.

Like this, Rhaenys is more beautiful than any other woman Aegon has ever seen. Her skin is darker than his and Visenya’s, her hair even more so, but they are offset by her lilac eyes, lighter than Aegon’s. They make him feel like she can see into him, through him.

“Aegon,” she says, her voice soft. “If she decides not to, it is our loss, as well as hers, but it is her choice. Visenya has always resisted change. You just startled her. Don’t be so upset.”

“I’m not,” Aegon insists, lying. Rhaenys scoffs and turns back to her painting. “I’m not,” he repeats. “I just hope I haven’t ruined anything with her.”

Rhaenys laughs, a light and musical sound. Aegon has dreamt of that laugh. “You haven’t,” she says, smiling at him. “You did get her to say she loves you,” Rhaenys teases.

Aegon’s face flushes and sees Visenya’s face in his mind’s eye. _More than just sometimes,_ he hears, and his heart skips a beat. “Not in so many words,” he mutters. Gods, how he wishes he could stay upset. Rhaenys has a gift for calming him, though. He’s glad he came straight to her.

Rhaenys’s face splits into a grin and her eyes are on the horizon again, “Oh! I see Viserion. He’s with Drogon today.” She turns to the canvas. “I wish he’d stay still long enough for me to paint him. Do you think he’ll be big enough for me to ride soon? Daenerys has started riding Drogon and I’ve been nearly _mad_ with jealousy.”

 

* * *

 

 

At supper, Aegon is so wound with nerves that both Daenerys and Tyrion shoot him strange looks. But still, Visenya has not come down to join them for this meal. They’ve just started eating when Ser Jaime comes down and tells them that Visenya is taken ill, that she will not be joining them tonight. Aegon shoots Rhaenys a worried look, and starts to rise, “I shall check on her,” he says.

“No need,” Ser Jaime stops him. His green eyes are unreadable. “Princess Visenya has asked to be left alone this evening. She begs your pardons.” With a clink of his armor, Ser Jaime is gone.

Aegon’s heart sinks in dread. _She’s still angry_ , he tells himself.

The rest of the night is agony. They’ve all become accustomed to listening to Visenya play the harp after supper. Without her there, Tyrion begs off early, and Daenerys goes to see if Visenya will admit her.

Rhaenys strokes the side of Aegon’s face with a cool hand. “It’s alright, Aegon. She just needs time alone,” she says. “Stay with me tonight.”

Aegon does. He’s in no mood to do anything but lay near Rhaenys, arms curled loosely around her in the bed. The dread in the pit of his stomach won’t leave. “I’ve ruined it,” he whispers. Rhaenys shifts against him, ready to deny it. Aegon ignores her and continues speaking. “She’ll never forgive me for even _suggesting—”_

A knock on the door cuts off the rest of his words. Aegon’s heart is thudding painfully.

“Come in,” Rhaenys calls, sitting up. Aegon cannot look. If it’s not Visenya…

But it is. He knows it is.

“Visenya,” Rhaenys says, voice light. “You’re better, I hope?”

“I—yes,” Visenya answers, and finally Aegon turns his head to look at her. She’s dressed in her riding leathers, and her hair is wild. He can smell the fresh air on her from here. Aegon realizes with relief that she hadn’t been hiding from them in her chambers like they’d all thought, but riding on the stony shores. Somehow, that’s better.

Her face shifts between light and shadow as the fire in the hearth flickers. Aegon cannot see her eyes, but he knows she is watching the two of them with the same intensity she always does.

“I’m sorry,” he says, finally. “I shouldn’t have pushed the issue, Visenya. I knew you would be uncomfortable.”

Rhaenys sighs from besides Aegon, “I’m sorry as well,” she admits. “I—Visenya, you know that I want you. And I want Aegon, too. I just thought this…would be easier. I understand if you don’t believe so.”

“Easier?” Visenya repeats. Her back is still against the door.

Climbing over Aegon and off the bed, Rhaenys walks slowly to Visenya, and pulls at her hand. Visenya follows automatically, much like Aegon had on his way here. She’s not looking at either of them, but when her knees hit the bed, she sits, despite the sudden proximity to Aegon and Rhaenys.

Voice low, Rhaenys kneels before Visenya. “We can try,” she whispers, placing her hands on Visenya’s knees. Aegon can feel his blood begin to burn, but he doesn’t move from behind Visenya. Rhaenys goes on, “One time, my love. If you never wish to do it again, we will both understand, and things can go back to the way they were.” Aegon watches Rhaenys coax Visenya’s legs apart slowly, as though Visenya were a wild animal that would run away at the slightest provocation.

Visenya’s eyelids flutter closed. She leans back heavily into Aegon’s chest and mumbles, “Things can never go back to the way they were.”

“Sometimes, change is good,” Rhaenys insists. “Will you try? Once?”

Softly, Aegon presses a kiss into Visenya’s neck. He feels her shiver.

“Yes,” she whispers.

 

* * *

 

 

They are gentle with her, their little sister. Even when Rhaenys scratches her way across Aegon’s chest and nearly draws blood, even when Aegon is so overwhelmed with feeling, with touch. They are gentle with Visenya. They would scare her away otherwise, and she is too _important_ to scare away.

 

* * *

 

 

“No one can know,” Visenya says, tucked against Rhaenys’s sweaty shoulder. “The things they say…this cannot be one of them.”

“I know, love,” Rhaenys coos. “This is between the three of us, no one else.”

Aegon nearly laughs at how gentle Rhaenys is now. There are scratches on his chest that prove how frenzied and rough she can be. Instead of laughing, though, he kisses Visenya’s shoulder, then continues his way down her back. “It’s us,” he promises. “Just us, against the world.”

Visenya melts at his words, an echo of what he told her not so long ago. Rhaenys giggles, and the sound goes straight to his groin. It’s too soon for him, but there’s an interested twitch.

They’re all different, Aegon realizes. Not just Rhaenys and Visenya, but him as well. When they started this, when they were wed, Aegon had dreaded it. But now, he only feels contentment and lightness in his heart. And now he knows why.

_We fit together._


	2. Rhaenys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaenys schemes, but it's her heart in the balance, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a missing scene from Rhaenys's POV. This is before Visenya and Aegon have sex at Dragonstone together, and it's her subtly pushing them together, trying to fix their broken relationship.

It is Rhaenys’s idea that Visenya sing for them.

Her sister’s voice is a haunting, beautiful thing. Rhaenys truly believes that Visenya’s voice alone could stop an Other in it’s tracks. And combined with her silver harp, Visenya could charm even the coldest of men. It’s what first gave Rhaenys, all those years ago, the urge to kiss her, to put her mouth on Visenya’s to capture the lovely sounds that could make a song as crude as “The Bear and the Maiden Fair” sweet.

But when she suggests it, Visenya’s mouth turns down. It takes Rhaenys a moment, stroking Viserion’s head as he sets himself in her lap, but suddenly, Rhaenys realizes that Visenya hasn’t sang for her since their wedding to Aegon. She is ashamed that she has been so wrapped up in herself and her marriage that she has not noticed.

“I’m not sure that would be too wise, Rhaenys,” Visenya says, voice dismissive, even as her fingers twitch along the table, strumming an invisible harp. “Everyone’s ready for bed. Perhaps on the morrow.”

“You sing, princess?” Tyrion Lannister asks, from across Rhaenys. He’d been talking to Visenya when Rhaenys interrupted, debating the merits of the Dragonknight’s actions. “I have not heard a good song in some time. Perhaps you could give us a tune.”

“Not—” Visenya begins, but suddenly, Daenerys interrupts her.

“She sings beautifully!” Dany says, her voice bright. “Visenya, just the other night, sang a Northern folk song for me, and it was so beautiful it brought me to tears!”

Rhaenys feels an odd, sharp stab of jealousy that Visenya sang for Daenerys, probably in the privacy of her solar. She didn’t even realize Visenya had brought her harp to Dragonstone. She feels awful for not knowing.

Rhaenys turns to Aegon and tells him, “She’s got the sweetest voice, Aegon, and her fingers can pluck sounds I’ve never imagined from that harp of hers. Hearing her sing is like listening to Father enthrall a crowd with his songs—”

She means to go on, to continue praising Visenya’s musical abilities, when Visenya pushes away from the table.

“I’m tired, Rhaenys,” Visenya says, her voice tight. “I don’t want to play tonight.”

Rhaenys is about to open her mouth and protest. This isn’t how she imagined tonight going. Aegon should hear Visenya sing, soften to her. Her voice is magical, and sorrowful and beautiful, and if it could thaw Rhaenys’s heart it could do the same for their brother. But another voice talks first.

“Are you sure, princess? I could have your harp brought down in a moment.”

It is Ser Jaime, standing at attention at the door. He is so quiet sometimes that Rhaenys forgets he is there. She has never been close to Ser Jaime, preferring instead the sharp wit of Ser Arthur or the stoic humor of Ser Barristan. But he and Visenya have always had a bond, and at his voice, Visenya stops.

Rhaenys does not think that Visenya will waver, but she does. Ser Jaime does not speak, but Rhaenys sees a silent message being communicated. What it is, she does not know.

“I’ll get it myself,” Ser Jaime suggests. Without waiting for Visenya’s response, he turns and strides out the doors. Visenya sits back down, and takes a breath.

From besides her, Aegon speaks, his voice almost soft. “What will you sing for us?”

Visenya does not look at him. It breaks Rhaenys’s heart, that her brother and sister cannot get along outside of the training yard. “The Rains of Castamere,” her sister tells them, but keeps her eyes trained on Tyrion Lannister. “To honor our guest.”

Tyrion laughs, diffusing some of the tension, but Rhaenys can see the way Visenya’s shoulders tighten, the minute frown forming it’s way on her brow. Perhaps it was too soon for her to have suggested…

But then Daenerys leans over Rhaenys to whisper to Aegon, “You’re in for a treat. She plays it well.”

Rhaenys’s fingers tighten on her chair, almost imperceptibly. She can feel the nerves coming off her sister, the hope in Aegon’s eyes. One step at a time, one step to strengthen ties between them all, to get rid of the awful tension between them, the wall of ice that Visenya has up against Aegon, and against Rhaenys, to a lesser degree.

The harp, when it comes, shines silver in the dimly lit room. Rhaenys catches her breath as Visenya arranges herself against it, fingers poised above the strings. She’s forgotten how beautiful her sister is with an instrument in her hands, be it a sword or a harp. She wants to stand up, to kiss Visenya and wisk her away, away from the pain that exists between the three of them.

Instead, she lets go of the chair’s arm, and holds Aegon’s hand. He looks at her, confusedly. While they are physical with one another, they have not held hands outside of the bedroom before.

Visenya starts the first line without music, just her voice low against the cracking of the fire.

_And who are you, the proud lord said,  
                     That I must bow so low?_

Her fingers pluck at the strings, and it’s quiet, intense. Aegon’s fingers tighten against Rhaenys’s.

                    _Only a cat of a different coat,_  
                _that's all the truth I know._  
_In a coat of gold or a coat of red,_  
_a lion still has claws,_  
_And mine are long and sharp, my lord,_  
                    _as long and sharp as yours._

Suddenly, Visenya’s voice, and the music, rises.

 _And so he spoke, and so he spoke,_  
                    _that lord of Castamere,_  
_But now the rains weep o'er his hall,_  
_with no one there to hear._

Quieting again, Visenya finishes the song.

                    _Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall,  
                    and not a soul to hear._

The last note vibrates in the air, and Rhaenys dares not be the one to break the spell. She wishes, sometimes, that she’d taken her music lessons as seriously as Visenya had. But her voice is deeper and not as pleasant, so she’d taken up poetry instead.

“That was beautiful,” Tyrion says, voice low, as if afraid to disturb the air. Rhaenys knows the feeling. Visenya stays hunched over the harp for a moment longer, before pushing her hair out of her eyes.

“Thank you, Lord Tyrion.” Her sister’s voice is formal, but her face is flushed from the praise. Before Rhaenys can congratulate her on a wonderful performance, Visenya has risen from the table. Without a word, she leaves, and Ser Jaime escorts her from the room.

Rhaenys does not miss how Aegon’s eyes follow her.

That night, when Rhaenys pulls him into her rooms, Aegon follows without a word. They haven’t let go of each other’s hands, and when Rhaenys pushes him on the bed, it is the first time she climbs atop him without his urging, presses his hands into the mattress and rides him. He is hard before they even take off their clothes, and he has no protests when Rhaenys pushes his shoulders into the bed harder than necessary. He is, perhaps, not the only one affected tonight, and Rhaenys is not too proud to admit that to herself. For the first time, Aegon bites his lips when he comes, screws his eyes shut, and doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t call her name. She should feel jealous, that he isn’t really thinking of her tonight, but she can’t find the jealousy, not tonight, not when she isn’t really thinking of him, either.

He is shaking when they’re done, and Rhaenys holds him close.

“Shh,” she whispers into his hair. “It’s alright. It’s all going to be fine.”

Aegon clutches her, head to her chest, and stays awake long into the night.

He won’t admit it to himself, how much he wants Visenya, but that’s fine too. If Rhaenys knows anything about her siblings, it’s how to get them to give in.

The next night, Visenya brings her harp down with her to dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and review! The comments from this AU have been so amazing and inspire me to continue writing.
> 
> If anyone has prompts for me to write in this AU, let me know. I'm going to make a couple more one shots in this universe before I finish Terrors of the Night.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I've kind of become obsessed with this series. So much so that I'm doodling sketches of Visenya, Dany and Rhaenys while I should be paying attention to my professors (not just normal doodles, mind you. Full sized sketches of Visenya in armor between organic chemistry reactions. Kill me now). To be fair to my other series, I'm going to work on updating those for a bit, but I will be updating Terrors of the Night really soon. I've got at least five chapters planned for it.
> 
> Also, I want to make it clear that this relationship is extremely difficult for Visenya in the beginning. I tried to keep her/Jon as true to herself in this situation as possible. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this little missing scene! I know I enjoyed writing it, especially from Aegon's POV. I'm going to write another drabble of his POV of the tournament once I'm done with Terrors of the Night. And then we get a piece from Rhaenys's POV! Ahhh I'm so excited!
> 
> Please review! I love reviews, and all the positivity from the rest of this series was amazing.


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